


Made of iron

by EaSnowPw



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EaSnowPw/pseuds/EaSnowPw
Summary: Stark men are made of iron.





	Made of iron

"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
Howard had repeated that motto throughout Tony's entire childhood. Every time Tony fucked up. Every time Tony did something subpar. Every time Tony cried. Every time he showed an ounce of weakness.  
  
Tony would never forget it.

* * *

"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
It has become his mantra, always repeated during difficult times. He can hear his father almost as if he were here. As per usual, he sounds disappointed. His son is never enough. Not strong enough, not brave enough, not smart enough.  
  
He's not Steve Rogers.

* * *

Shit happens. Terrorists, Iron Man, Sokovia, Ultron, Thanos.  
  
"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
Sometimes he thinks he's back in that cave and can't tell whether he really made it out of there.  
  
"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
He sees Ultron, feels the weight of his mistake, the betrayal his teammates felt, the disappointment. He has second thoughts, thinks of Vision and mourns Jarvis. He sees the city fall again, can almost hear the explosion and if he closes his eyes, he's back there.  
  
"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
He sees Thanos, big and strong, catching them off guard, barely a warning before his life shatters before his very eyes. Sometimes he has to call Peter to make sure he's still alive, to make sure the boy is not dust on a foreign planet.  
  
"Stark men are made of iron."  
  
"Stark, breathe. Look at my chest and try to follow my rhythm."  
  
Even iron can rust.

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
That's what Tony keeps telling himself while Strange is making tea. Never bend. Show no weakness. Particularly to people you only sort of get along with. Particularly to someone you low-key hate.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
He knows, from the look on Stephen's face, that he isn't very convincing.  
  
"You don't have to pretend. Please don't."  
  
"Fuck off, Strange." Tony looks away, but accepts the tea, which is surprisingly soothing.  
  
"You're still bitter after Thanos."  
  
"How'd you figure out that one? Through the green rock?"  
  
He gets no answer, so, against his better judgement, he glances at the other man. At least he has the sense to appear remorseful.  
  
"Stark, you know I'm sorry I left everything on your shoulders. I am. It was a horrible thing to do, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was the only way. I..."  
  
"Except it wasn't," Tony snapped. "With that many variables, every single possibility has an infinity of ramifications, which means that you didn't look enough. There were other victories, I'm sure of it."  
  
Remorse switches to hurt, then bitterness. Strange looks away, pain and conflict obvious in his gaze. He takes a deep breath and exhales evenly, obviously trying not to hyperventilate.  
  
For the first time, Tony feels an ounce of sympathy for the man in front of him.  
  
"Did it ever occur to you..." His voice breaks, but Strange pushes on after a deep inhale "... what the cost of other victories could be?"  
  
And he's right. It hasn't occurred to Tony, at least until now, that they're all alive. It hasn't occurred to him that Thanos is dead, the gauntlet is gone and the stones are scattered with a negligible price on their side. A price paid mostly by him.  
  
Still, looking at the man in front of him who seems to be carefully cataloguing his environment, he can't help but wonder whether he's wrong on that last assumption. He remembers Strange returning from his future viewing and how anxious he was, unsure of his surroundings. The man had just been tortured, yet he never complained while they were getting ready to fight, not even a beep, he just followed the plan and did whatever they needed him to. Perhaps even more than that, Tony thinks, remembering a black hole which turned into butterflies.  
  
"You're saying this was the easiest one?"  
  
Strange just nods and lets the cloak pull him into a standing position and a few steps away. He hides his hands behind his back, now holding Tony's gaze. If he didn't have experience with hiding his own issues, Tony wouldn't notice the other man's mental state, but he does. Still, he pushes forward.  
  
"How many wins?"  
  
"1 265 times, with various casualties, sometimes our entire planet. 12 808 times Thanos died, but the gauntlet was taken by someone else." Strange looks away. "Ask whatever else you need to know for your peace of mind."  
  
"Was there any victory I didn't participate in?"  
  
"No." Strange gulps, eyes sliding closed before he speaks. "In fact, you were the main player in all scenarios."  
  
Tony keeps eye contact. He can extrapolate, but he needs to know.  
  
"Out of 1 265 victories, in how many did I die?" The sorcerer looks away. "Strange, tell me."  
  
"Many." Their gazes meet again. "1 264."  
  
Tony's eyes widen. He feels sick to his stomach, mind tingling with possibilities. He can tell he's not being lied to. The sorcerer deliberately chose a scenario in which he survived. Broken, traumatized, but he's alive. He gets to watch Peter grow up and the Avengers develop into a proper international team. More urgently, in a twisted way, he owes this man his life.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The cloak does the equivalent of a surprised twitch. Strange's eyes widen.  
  
"Don't thank me. I only did what I thought was right. Tony, you deserve to be happy. After everything you've done for this planet, you've earned your happy ending," he hurries to explain.  
  
"Pepper left."  
  
"I didn't foresee that. I'm sorry."  
  
"Of all the things you could be sorry for, this one barely makes the cut," Tony easily dismisses. "I guess I owe you an apology, too. I'm sorry I've been an ass about everything."  
  
"It's fine." Still, his shoulders are less tense.  
  
"What'd you come for, anyway?"  
  
Now, the sorcerer relaxes almost completely, glad for the change of topic.  
  
"A relic. It seems to be mechanical in nature..."  
  
There's a new glint in Stephen's eyes when he starts talking. And when Tony makes the old box shine and open, the wonder and honest admiration from the sorcerer draws him in unexpectedly.  
  
He wants to see it as often as possible.

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
When Tony sets his eyes on a prize, he gets it, one way or another. He fights, cajoles, negotiates, but 99.99% of the time, he gets it.  
  
And now he wants a magical doctor with a flair for the dramatic.

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
Howard was an asshole, but he was right about this. Unbent, unbreakable. He was, however, wrong about one thing: Tony only becomes iron when he has a purpose.  
  
Stephen gives him one: he will only take Tony if he goes to therapy for his mountain of issues. Can't start a relationship if you're a mess inside. Tony wants to growl, get angry and say he won't be manipulated like this, but he notices something about the other man that changes his mind: there's worry in his gaze, and fondness.  
  
"Tell me you see a future for us and I'm starting tomorrow."  
  
And the sorcerer softens, the rough edge he's been using earlier melting and leaving behind something Tony would kill Thanos again for.  
  
"I've fallen in love with you lifetimes ago. I'm doing this for you, because I want us to be something beautiful. I will be with you every step on the way if you need me."

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
Rhodey watches his best friend fight his issues almost physically, drilling through every anxiety and trauma he's ever pushed back. He gets to help, watch him get frustrated and angry and hopeless, only to pick up his pieces and start anew.  
  
There's a wizard at his side, helping the colonel help his best friend, offering advice when asked, comfort when Tony needs it and constant encouragement. Happy and Pepper complete the picture, watching in amazement as their friend seems to be reborn from the ashes.

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
Mental health is bullshit, as far as Tony is concerned. It's like slapping a bandaid on a stab. It stops the bleeding, but it leaves a lot to be desired in terms of actual healing.  
  
He storms the sanctum, ready to demand his reward.  
  
"Ok, my therapist says I'm as good as I'll ever be. Take it or leave it, Stephen, because if you want me to get better, I now know it's not happening, so fuck that. You're asking for the impossible."  
  
The sorcerer appears in front of him and Tony wants to jerk him down into a kiss, but he waits, trying to gauge whether a slap would be more appropriate.  
  
"I just wanted you to get help from a professional, Tony, but, as always, you surpassed my expectations. So tomorrow, 8?"  
  
"Wear a tux."

* * *

Stark men are made of iron.  
  
Tony Stark is made of a magically enforced  gold-titanium alloy.


End file.
